Fruit face; I've wanted to say that for a while
Not that your necklace is unbecoming
But with asparagus tips, tonight's no night for slumming
Twigs laced; I've not told the whole story
But with twelve photographs of your head, organically immersed
You've given us all something to think on, or otherwise disperse
House without doors, house without windows
House with no one inside or out
House, made of thorns, a protection of sorts
Or a suggestion
That home is all we have to cling to
Or that home is all we have
In our struggle to get away
The road sign says No horse racing on the carriageway
A good job on that day; for you were past racing
Your racing days were over
All your days were over
It was the first time that I had seen a glass and crystal coffin carriage
Horse drawn, groomed for the occasion
You would have liked the sign Road closed for a funeral procession
Hundreds, maybe thousands of well wishers
Stand back, make way, by notices they are instructed
The sun shone then as the sun shines now - outside the gallery
Inside, a casket: Lacrymatory - The Jerpoint kick-starts the memory
Of someone I never ever knew
Though I know now, my chasing days too are almost over
All of those days are almost over
Take the stairway
Three floors below zero
Four metres of concrete
Walk along the corridor
Five doubts of past depressions
Six days of blackened sun
Turn, in step
Seven twisted corrugations
Eight minds, stolen or shattered
Three floors below zero, four metres of reinforced concrete
Carried in cages over cavernous excavations
Or in tunnels, pure of artificial light
Boulders blasted with dynamite explosives
Underworlds that underscore, they symbolise symbolic art
Doubt
Descent
Disappearance
Dust
Disfigured man
Duress
Distrust
Water, darkened by the slowly blackened sun
On the sands twisted corrugations minds are shattered or stolen
